


Memento Mori

by strengthcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV: Castiel, POV: Dean Winchester, Season 12 finale, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Temporary Character Death, season 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-01 23:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11497176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strengthcas/pseuds/strengthcas
Summary: After losing his mother and best friend in one night, Dean is left feeling devastated and unstable. To make matters worse, Lucifer’s son is nowhere to be found and, aside from the occasional monster hunt, Earth is mysteriously calm. That is, until Dean comes face-to-face with a familiar angel from an alternate reality.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This takes place after the Season 12 Finale and will go off on a tangent from there.
> 
>  **Memento Mori:** Remember that you must die.

Castiel had known the moment he returned to that post-apocalyptic alternate reality that he was in grave danger. And as he walked across the dirt with his head held high and the stench of ash and death engulfing him with each step, Castiel thought nothing of it. Facing death was nothing new. Putting his life on the line for those he cared about seemed like no issue at all, especially now. Sam and Dean would think otherwise, of course, Castiel knew that as well. 

Which is why he refused to turn around at the sound of Dean’s voice calling his name, thick with disbelief and anger and… grief. His voice even lingered in the air after Sam was able to drag Dean through the doorway and back to their own world. Then it was just Castiel and Lucifer and Crowley’s dead body laying only a few feet away. Another life Castiel was unable to save, despite the fact he wasn’t especially fond of the guy. Still, Crowley had helped them. Had at least made an effort to banish Lucifer to rot in this apocalyptic Earth. And Castiel couldn’t save him. 

Seeing Crowley’s lifeless body didn’t deter Castiel, though, and he refused to show any signs of remorse as he advanced toward Lucifer with the angel blade in hand. In just a few minutes, the gateway would close forever. It only took Castiel a few moments to realize that he had two options: kill Lucifer and return to Sam and Dean or keep his brother occupied long enough to lock them both in this eternal Hell and far away from the Winchester’s. Both options would satisfy Castiel. Both options would save Sam and Dean from additional dilemmas concerning the Devil himself and that’s all that mattered.

“We can handle ourselves, Cas,” Dean had told him, his voice slow and calculating, obviously tainted by the alcohol he had been milking for most of the day. This declaration came only a few weeks ago after Castiel insisted he help with the Lucifer problem. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before. Besides, you should be taking care of yourself, all right?”

Castiel had been sitting across from Dean, staring at the table and wishing that Sam hadn’t gone to bed so early. Sam would’ve agreed with Castiel. _He_ never seemed to mind if Castiel was willing to help. Sam treated Castiel like an adult, although Castiel was much older than any of the adults currently residing on Earth. Dean didn’t have to treat him like a child. It only made Castiel feel cold and useless. As if he weren’t thousands of years old. 

He knew better than that, though. Castiel knew that Dean was only worried about his safety. 

Still, it made Castiel feel insignificant. 

For years, he had only managed to let Dean down. Sam, too. Again, and again, Castiel kept failing. Surely that’s what Dean had truly meant. That despite his years of experience, Castiel would only make matters worse. He wasn’t the angel he used to be. He had lost his wings and even his strength and stamina wasn’t up to par. Castiel was an embarrassing excuse for an angel, but at least he was _trying_. 

“I want to help,” Castiel responded firmly, finally pulling his gaze up to meet Dean’s eyes. “You told me we would find a better way and this is a better way. We work better together, you said so yourself.” His brow furrowed then, trying to remember something Dean had said offhandedly. “Team Freewell,” Castiel nodded his head with a fierce determination in his eyes. He wasn’t sure what it meant when Dean had said it or who this ‘Freewell’ person was, back when Castiel had tried, and failed, to return _Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx mixtape_ , but it had seemed to mean something significant to Dean. They were a team, in any case. All three of them.

And then Dean smiled brilliantly and for a brief second, Castiel felt like he could breathe. The hunter set his glass of whiskey down on the table just before he let his head fall back in a fit of laughter. Fleetingly, Castiel wondered just how much Dean had to drink. He would be hurt at the implications of Dean laughing in Castiel’s face about wanting to help but seeing the amusement on Dean’s face was definitely worth it. Castiel didn’t interrupt him. Instead, he sat patiently, waiting for the laughter to die down. For a second, everything seemed to be completely fine.

Even now, if Castiel listened closely, he could hear Dean’s laughter still ringing in his ears. 

Dean never offered Castiel an explanation as to what was so funny. And Castiel found it ridiculous that now, as he was progressing on Lucifer, he wished he’d had the courage to ask.

Lucifer was standing only a meter away now, still distracted by Crowley’s death it seemed; something Castiel didn’t want to think too much about. He didn’t have a lot of time and thankfully, his brother was too distracted to put up much a fight as Castiel advanced on him. It was clear now that Castiel needed to harm Lucifer, or at least try to. At least to buy him some time.

He had his angel blade with him; the silver weapon a near weightless object in his hand. Strange how such a simple, triple-edged dagger could cause so much harm to a celestial being. However, despite its powerful capabilities, Castiel didn’t have much faith that it would kill Lucifer. Harm him, of course, but death was out of question. It was no archangel blade, unfortunately, and Lucifer was well aware of that fact.

Castiel could vaguely make out the bullet holes in Lucifer’s jacket; remnants of when Dean had tried to kill Lucifer with those handmade bullets Bobby had mentioned earlier. Frankly, Lucifer didn’t seem wounded at all. But considering that Sam and Dean had managed to make it out of this parallel world in one piece, he, too, might actually be able to make it out alive. All he had to do was hurry. 

Lucifer was loosely aware of Castiel’s presence but it was too late. Without wasting another second, Castiel sunk his angel blade deep into Lucifer’s abdomen and watched as his brother’s irises shifted into an angry, red, hue. Lucifer sunk forward, leaning into the blade and glancing down at the weapon in disbelief, as if it had personally offended him.

Which, Castiel figured, it probably did.

For good measure, Castiel pulled the blade out and stabbed his brother once more.

This time, Lucifer’s knees gave out and he fell to the ground. The red in his eyes was more furious than before, but Castiel didn’t have much time react; or to think properly at all. He could feel the air shift around him: a tingling sensation much like electricity pulsing through his bones and screaming at him to hurry up. To move. 

The tear in space and time was closing, and Castiel didn’t have much time.

Castiel released the angel blade and spun around to look at the doorway as Lucifer’s body fell to the ground. Lucifer was in pain, a long string of curses leaving his lips as he clutched at his abdomen. The blade was still buried deep inside of him, the flesh around the wound glowing and exposing Lucifer’s angelic grace. If luck was on Castiel’s side, it would allow him just enough time to get through the veil just before it closes, leaving Lucifer wounded and suffering on the ground. On an entirely different world. Safely away from the Winchester’s and Jack, his biological son. Safely away from the world that he had grown to love and protect for thousands of years.

With that in mind, Castiel ran.

Shortly after Castiel’s return from purgatory a few years ago, Sam came to him. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cas,” He said, and for the first time, Castiel noticed the prominent worry lines between Sam’s eyebrows. Dean had ventured off to the nearest grocery store to buy Sam’s ‘rabbit food’ and Sam had practically shoved Dean out of the door and claimed that after all this time away, he thought Dean would enjoy some alone time with his car. Dean immediately agreed and took off, leaving Sam and Castiel at the Radburry Inn. 

Castiel was reading the local newspaper quietly, minding his own business and searching for any possible leads. Naomi had given him strict orders: check in on the Winchester’s and report back with any pertinent information. At the time, Castiel didn’t have much to report back on. 

“I mean it. Don’t tell Dean I told you this, but… He thought he was going mad. _I_ thought he was going mad,” Sam continued, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, near Castiel’s chair. Castiel had no choice but to set the newspaper down on the table and give Sam his undivided attention. 

“That wasn’t my intention, he knows that. I’m still not entirely sure how I was able to return. Blaming himself won’t help anything.” Castiel sighed, “I’m safe. I’m alive.”

Sam didn’t look convinced, “That’s not what I mean. I mean, yeah, that’s true, but…” Castiel could hear the hesitation in Sam’s voice, and truthfully Castiel was also losing his patience. “Dean was seeing you everywhere. Even before you came back. He couldn’t sleep. He was drinking too much. Still is.”

“I’m not entirely sure what you want me–“

“It reminded me of when I lost Jess.”

Castiel didn’t want to put Dean through that again. It was torturous years ago, and surely it would be torturous now. Sam didn’t go into depth about his visions of Jess, but Sam didn’t need to. The problem with Dean was that he just cared a little too much. The problem with Dean was that he kept it all bottled inside. 

Running has always seemed like a useless human activity. Up until Castiel was human himself, he never thought much of it. Of course, physical fitness was imperative, but Castiel didn’t need it. He was always healthy. Had always been able to heal himself should he get hurt. In a human vessel, Castiel didn’t even age. It was something he took for granted. 

Especially now, as he felt the rippling electricity deep beneath his skin, urging him to go _faster_. Castiel was fast. Or, rather, his vessel was pretty fast. If he still had his wings, though, he’d fly. 

He didn’t dare turn around for fear of wasting precious time. Lucifer’s wounds were horrendous and Castiel prayed, for the first time in a long time, that it would be enough. God didn’t respond, though. And neither did the other angels. In fact, Castiel didn’t hear anything on the angel radio. Nothing but the soft chattering of rogue angels from this apocalyptic universe. Offhandedly, Castiel thought that he wouldn’t be able to reach God. Not _his_ God, at least. Not Chuck.

It didn’t matter, though. Castiel was close. And thankfully, he couldn’t hear any movement behind him. He needed this. He needed to prove to Dean that he could come back with a win, something that would portray just how valuable he was. After everything that they had been through, Castiel knew that if he could just succeed in this one thing, it might change Dean’s view of him. 

And Castiel thought, long and hard about Dean’s smile. About how vibrant and stress-free it was. How it seemed to take years off of Dean’s age. He used that image as motivation to push forward and reach out toward the gateway.

Darkness shrouded him. 

In an instant, Castiel could hear the sound of water lapping at the shore and he could feel a gentle breeze brush against his skin and ruffle his hair, calm and reassuring. Sam and Dean were standing in front of him, both appearing desperately relieved to see Castiel alive and unharmed. Sam’s worry lines softened and Dean’s shoulder’s relaxed. And not for the first time, Castiel thought that this was all he needed. 

“Cas.” Sam breathed out with a small smile resting on his face.

Castiel’s relief only lasted a second. 

It was the sharp, searing pain that pulled Castiel back to reality. He didn’t have enough time to react. It would’ve been too late, anyway. Every ounce of grace that flowed through his veins felt as though it was on fire, a poison that was quickly tearing him apart from the inside out. 

Castiel knew instantly that he failed and his first thought was that he’d never get the chance to properly ask Dean what was so funny all those days ago. He’d never get the chance to hear his laughter again or watch as his head fell back with the intensity of it. 

Desperately, Castiel reached out for that memory. If anything, at least he’d be comforted by the sweet sound of Dean’s voice and his laughter. _Please_ , God, let him have this at the very least. Something that would be able to distract him from the agony seeping into his bones and driving him mad.

But the pain was too overwhelming.

Dean’s blood-curdling cry was the last thing he heard.


	2. Carbon Copy

For nine years, Dean took comfort in the fact that Castiel would always be there. Aside from his own family and his own few, select friends, Castiel was someone that Dean could confide in. Even in the worst of times, when Castiel was missing or when Dean was going on a rampage around the United States as a powerful demonic force; that thought was always there, lingering in the back of his mind. 

Dean would even argue that Castiel was more loyal than his mother. 

It wasn’t Mary’s fault. Returning from the dead after so long would certainly drive any person mad. Sam and Dean were complete strangers and not only that, but the technological advances was something even Dean was struggling to understand. Sam didn’t seem to have that much trouble embracing this newfound technology, which was irritating in and of itself, but that was learned over a period of time. Mary was dropped right in the middle of it all.

So, yeah, Dean understood why Mary left. It was all an attempt to get a better grasp of the world around her. Castiel, on the other hand, had plenty of time to grow accustomed to the way humans did things. Nine whole years. Even more if Dean counted the thousands of years Castiel spent merely watching over Earth and its inhabitants. 

Which is why he was furious when Castiel would take off for days, weeks even, without a single word. Without a single call or text to inform them of his location. Hell, Dean would have even accepted a letter via pigeon if it meant Cas was alive and kicking and _safe_ from whatever horrible nightmare that seemed to be chasing Castiel at any given moment.

Dean hated it. Fuck, he really hated it.

Sam used to tell him that he was overreacting and that Castiel shouldn’t be bossed around as if he were a teenager sneaking out to God knows where in the middle of the night. Dean would grit his teeth and seethe every time Sam would bring it up, as if he didn’t already know that. Of course Dean _knew_ that, he wasn’t an idiot. But Castiel had absolutely no reason to leave them hanging when the world was falling apart around them. Sam and Dean were doing their best to hold the place together. Band-Aids and superglue doesn’t last forever, regardless of what it might say on the packaging. Nothing lasts forever, not really.

Dean should’ve remembered that. He shouldn’t have gotten too attached.

Considering that a majority of Dean’s friends were dead or missing, he really shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. 

Castiel had died four times before. Five if he counted the time where he was sent to that post-apocalyptic universe where Lucifer was riding Sam’s meat suit and _six_ if he counted the time where that weird actor asshole, Misha Collins, was stabbed to death in an alleyway. Dean wasn’t really counting though, of course he wasn’t. That would be absurd.

No, Dean was merely remembering all the times he had let Cas down and wasn’t able to save him. He was doing that a lot lately. Usually Dean would try to distance himself from his own thoughts by murdering any sort of monster that would get in his way or by searching for new ways to save everyone from himself. He was the real monster, after all. It was like Dean was cursed: anyone who dare get close to the righteous man shall suffer for all eternity. 

It had been four months since Castiel had been killed by Lucifer for the second time. Four months since his mother fell through the other side of the rift with Lucifer himself. Four _agonizing_ months since Jack was born.

It would be Dean’s luck to lose everyone he cared about in a single night. Not including his brother who miraculously lived through one of the worst days of Dean’s life. Thank God for that, too. If Sam had died, Dean was positive that he would have lost every bit of his sanity. He would’ve wreaked havoc on anything that came in his way. Including himself.

Dean could remember every moment of that night; the vivid memory of it still plastered in his brain as if he was being forced to re-watch and re-live it all. It was torture. Absolute torture. It didn’t matter if he was wide awake and killing vampires or if he was fast asleep; he’d still get occasional flashes from that night, photographs that would remind him just how fucked up his life was. Dean can handle nightmares since he has had them for years, even as a child, but _this_ was something completely different. 

Praying didn’t help either. He quickly accepted the fact that God, or Chuck, wasn’t listening. Neither was Amara. Yes, Dean tried to pray to her, too. Obviously they were off having the vacation of their lives while the rest of the world suffered and was on the brink of collapsing in on itself.

It had all happened in the span of five minutes, Dean was sure of it. He was shocked to find that his entire life was flipped upside-down in such a short amount of time. The plan wasn’t going well, but it was _manageable_. Yet, before he knew it, he was hunched down on the ground and grasping the fabric of Castiel’s trench coat, blurry eyes trained on the spot that once held a rift in space and time. His mother was gone. Cas’ cold, lifeless body was laying in front of him. Crowley was dead—sacrificed himself, of all things. The bastard. And his brother took off to take care of _Lucifer’s biological son_ because Dean didn’t even have the strength to keep standing. Worthless. Completely worthless. 

This was all his fault.

Maybe if Dean wasn’t so overbearing, shit like this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Castiel just needed his space. Cas had faith in the spawn of Satan and Dean refused to acknowledge it or even consider that he could, possibly, be right. So, Castiel took off to attend to it on his own, away from the Winchester’s and Dean’s constant nagging. It all made sense. Dean was an asshole. He didn’t even allow Castiel to fully explain himself. For all he knew, Cas could’ve had a compelling argument and Sam and Dean would have been able to join Castiel on his exuberant expedition to save the world via Satan’s lovechild. Castiel could still be alive. Mary would still be here. Even Crowley might be up and kicking, or whatever it is a cockroach does in its spare time. Lucifer would have still been an issue, along with Jack, but if they would’ve been able to formulate a more durable plan… if Dean hadn’t been so hardheaded… They would’ve had enough time to figure it all out. Together. As a proper team.

Yet, he kept pushing Castiel away like the ungrateful piece of shit that he was.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and turned the music up on his iPod, letting the music do the thinking for him. 

Right now, Dean was in Belfast, Maine which was approximately 1,852 miles away from Sam and the bunker. The Gull Motel wasn’t all that bad. The decorations and appliances were a bit outdated, though, and he considered the possibility that management must’ve hired an elderly woman to pick out the wallpaper, carpet, and ugly patterned bed sheets. The walls were littered with old-fashioned prairie photographs and artwork and despite the fact that Dean had requested a smoke-free room, the air was thick with the ashy smell of it. Still, Dean didn’t mind it all that much. And after two months of living there, the horrible-ness of it all basically disappeared. 

He had worked out a deal with the manager when he came into town so that he wouldn’t have to pay the full rate. Dean didn’t believe in luck anymore; but as luck would have it, the motel lost its maintenance worker the moment Dean set foot in the office. Mr. Nathan Anson, the manager, was furiously pacing the tiny office with his cell-phone pressed firmly to his ear. Dean tried to mind his own business. He even considered leaving to find a different motel since he saw about four others just down the street, all of them more promising than this shit-hole. But before he could make a definite decision, the angry, middle-aged man hung up his phone and slammed it onto the counter. The silence afterward was awkward and made Dean’s skin crawl. _Wonderful_ , he thought.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean asked rather sheepishly, trying to lighten the mood. 

The man only grunted in response before collapsing into the black leather seat behind the counter. Instead of breaking the silence once again, Dean let the man bask in his self-pity for a few more minutes and sat down in one of the fold-out chairs that were available for potential customers. The man, Nathan, was rubbing his temples. He looked thin and exhausted, as if he hadn’t had a proper nights rest in years. If Dean looked closely enough, he might even be able to see the guy’s hair miraculously change from dark-brown to white. Not that he had a lot of brown hair remaining, though. It was only a matter of time. And with the lingering silence, Dean idly thought that he might witness the death of Nathan’s chocolate locks. 

Dean was beginning to believe that he might also die there of old age when he heard the man finally respond, his croaky voice filling the empty room, “Something like that.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I doubt it,” the man mumbled, “Room for one?”

Dean hesitated for a moment. A part of him wanted to say ‘yes’ and get on with his sorry excuse of a life but another part of him wanted to see if he could at least take a load off this guy’s shoulders. At least then he’d be able to keep his mind and body occupied. As long as he can distance himself from the series of events that took place a few months ago, then it didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

Nathan must’ve noticed his reluctance because he looked up at Dean and narrowed his hazel eyes. It was a rather intense observation and Dean had to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some odd reason, it felt like he was back in third grade and being lectured by the school principal about why pulling girls’ pigtails was a _bad_ thing.

“Are you good with your hands?”

Dean scoffed and urgently suppressed the impulse to make an inappropriate, childish joke. “More or less.” 

“Can you fix things?”

“Sometimes.”

The man nodded his head then, seemingly accepting Dean’s response and before he knew it, Dean had landed himself a job. The job didn’t pay, obviously. Instead, Dean agreed to work so long as he got a generous discount on the room he went there for in the first place. Nathan approved it immediately and allowed Dean to stay in the farthest room from the office for only a small fee of $20 a week. Apparently it was a good enough deal for the both of them.

The work was easy enough and Dean was surprised to find that he actually knew how to fix a lot of things. His boss was thoroughly impressed and grateful for Dean’s help around the motel. After a few weeks, Dean began to see improvements in Nathan’s appearance as well. The man put on some weight and his facial features weren’t as sharp and intimidating as they once were. Hell, he even smiled more often than not. Dean was glad he was able to improve someone’s life. Even just a little bit. Somehow, it made his own life more bearable. 

Dean still called Sam every Saturday to check in and get updates about everything that’s going on in Kansas. Even though Dean was eternally grateful that Sam was spared from death yet again, he felt like it was his duty to separate himself from everything. At least for a while. It’s been two months since he’s seen his brother. And still, Dean felt like he needed his distance.

Sam was angry at first but it didn’t take Dean long to convince him that space would do them both good. Not really, though. It was working but Dean was still worrying about Sam and mentally kicking himself for being so weak. Weak enough that Dean couldn’t handle being around anyone he cared about for prolonged periods of time. Not without the constant fear that everything would turn to shit soon enough.

It wasn’t the fear he was accustomed to. Nothing like chasing after physical monsters or facing death itself. No, it was the psychologically twisted horror that weaved its way through Dean’s veins and left his soul feeling dry and heavy with anguish. It was the horror of feeling as if no matter what he did (or does in the future) is _wrong_ and will have unfortunate consequences. 

Much like the night of Castiel’s death.

It had taken Dean about five minutes to forcefully peel himself away from Castiel’s motionless body all those months ago. His face was damp with tears as he struggled to stand up and keep his balance. The shadow of Castiel’s wings were engrained in the soil around Dean; yet another reminder that Castiel was gone. Another reminder of Dean’s failures.

Dean was absolutely livid. 

He didn’t bother to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks as he stormed into the house. The same exact house that Castiel and Kelly had been hiding away in and building up so that they would be able cater to the Nephilim’s needs. The stupid fucking Nephilim that created the rift in space and time in the first place. If Castiel had so much faith in Lucifer’s child then maybe, _just maybe_ , the bastard kid would be able to bring Castiel back from the dead.

Actually, at the time, Dean had planned on forcing the kid to bring Castiel back. Regardless of the fact that he might have to actually drag an infant back to Castiel’s body.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he finally walked into that house. A million scenarios where swarming in his head. Considering that the child was able to create a rift in the universe, Dean wasn’t all that optimistic. In the five minutes he spent outside, pleading with God or _anyone_ that was willing to listen, Sam hadn’t returned. Shit, yeah, he wasn’t optimistic at all. 

However, the last thing that Dean expected to see was a thoroughly embarrassed Sam Winchester holding his jacket up in front of a _very_ naked adult Nephilim. 

Jack, if Dean remembered correctly, looked exactly like his father except with slightly longer hair that fell just above his ears. To make matters worse, Jack appeared to be completely amused by this turn of events and Dean was overcome with the desire to smack that sinister looking smirk off of his stupid face. 

“You!” Dean growled, bypassing Sam and pushing the jacket away simultaneously so that he could get closer to Jack.

“Dean, wait—“

“You fucking asshole! Do you have any idea what you’ve _done_? You need to fix this. Right fucking now.” 

Dean used his strength to push Jack up against the wall, his right forearm digging forcefully into the Nephilim’s neck. Any other time, Dean would’ve demanded that the guy find some clothes before he got all physical, but right now he couldn’t care less. That was the least of his worries. Castiel was dead and Dean _needed_ this fucker to bring him back. To bring his mother back. To do _anything_. Otherwise Jack would face the consequences. 

However, Jack said nothing. His smug expression didn’t even falter. 

“Dean. Don’t.” Sam’s desperate voice rang out behind him.

Dean knew how dangerous it was to provoke a Nephilim; especially one that is biologically related to Lucifer, an archangel. He had seen first-hand just how powerful Jack was. The Nephilim was able to scorch a fucking Prince of Hell without batting an eye and the kid was still in the womb. Jack was hazardous. They had no idea if he was good or bad. However, aside from his impressive pyrokinetic abilities, Dean also knew that Jack had the power to bring back the dead. If Jack showed any sort of remorse, he’d use his powers to save Castiel. 

“Shut up, Sam.”

“Stop. Just… think about this. At least let him get dressed!”

“No.” Dean snarled and applied more pressure to Jack’s throat. Jack seemed unfazed, still, and merely stared back at Dean in a way that could only be described as curiosity and amusement. His eyes were vaguely glowing a golden color and Dean was close enough to see the electric currents pulsing within, undoubtedly portraying just how much power he had over Dean. 

Dean wanted to snap his neck in two.

But before Dean could even make good on that unspoken desire, his coat sleeve caught fire. A burst of flames appeared out of thin air and snaked around Dean’s forearm, slowly making its way up to his shoulder. 

He stumbled backwards a few feet, cursing under his breath and frantically trying to put out the flames by smothering it with his other arm. The fire wasn’t touching his skin; in fact, if Dean didn’t know any better he’d think that Jack was only trying to scare him off and not hurt him. It wasn’t until Sam rushed over to help that they were able to put it out completely. Dean was relatively unharmed, but the sweltering heat from the fire was still painful. He was more annoyed and frustrated than anything else. 

“You son of a—“

Dean stopped talking when he caught sight of the heated expression on Sam’s face, a warning that Dean knew he could no longer ignore.

Sam stepped forward again, holding out the orange jacket that he was wearing earlier in the day. It was as if they were approaching a wild untamed animal; one that could either take off and leave them stranded or viciously attack them after one wrong move. They were both stunned, however, when Jack simply reached out and took the jacket out of Sam’s hand and examined it for a few excruciating moments before sliding it on. He was still naked from the waist down, but since Sam was a _giant_ , the jacket fell just below the guy’s waist. Not that it really helped any; his junk was still swinging freely.

His brother realized this at the exact same moment as Dean did and quickly rushed over to the closet in search of pants or shorts or _anything_ that would fit a fully grown man. Kelly had done a spectacular job stock piling stuff for the baby, but she didn’t take into account that Lucifer’s child would only be an infant for a few minutes. The guy already looked to be in his early twenties.

Jack continued to watch the brothers in silence, his gaze lingering on Dean every few seconds. His eyes were no longer glowing, but Dean was well aware of Jack’s power now and reluctantly kept his distance. 

When Sam returned, he was holding a pair of loose-fitting, flower-patterned pajama bottoms that most likely belonged to Kelly. Jack accepted them and quickly put them on. They were tighter than they should be and too short for his body, but it was definitely better than having his dick out. Dean would have to thank Sam later for having some common sense. Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking rationally and was still dying to snap Jack’s neck in half. Either that or drag him out to Castiel’s body.

After Jack was finished getting dressed, he gave Dean a calculating look, almost as if he was reading Dean’s mind. “I can’t help you,” he said eventually, his voice and facial expressions showing no remorse about what just happened. Sam was stunned that Jack already knew how to speak. Although, given the circumstances, it wasn’t all that surprising. Dean was more impressed with the kid’s courage to say something so fucking ridiculous. 

“Like hell you can’t. I’ve seen what you can do!”

“That was different.”

Dean thrusted his finger into Jack’s chest, hard enough that Jack was pushed off-balance. “Cas told me you brought her back from the dead. So don’t think for a _second_ that I won’t kick your entitled ass and force you to do what we tell you to.” 

“I said that’s different!” Jack yelled out, his eyes glowing dangerously once again. Dean quickly pulled his finger away for fear of losing it in a fire-related accident. “I needed her,” he continued, “I wouldn’t be able to bring Castiel back even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

Dean could feel his blood boiling with rage.

“Dean. Dean! Relax.” Sam’s voice rang out next to him, trying to talk Dean down from the inevitable outburst that was quickly building within, dying to be released. “Seriously, Dean. He said he can’t.”

“And you _believe_ him?” He turned to Sam then, a look of pure disbelief forming on his face.

“Well…”

“Don’t you dare…”

Sam looked distraught and he let the silence draw out for a few seconds before finally responding with “Yeah, I believe him.” 

As it turned out, Jack also couldn’t re-open the rift that was once in the backyard. Or, so he said. Dean thought it was a load of bullshit since he was the one to create it in the first place. Unfortunately, Sam also agreed that it might’ve been just because Jack was on the verge of being born and that his power was overwhelming. Every second that passed, Dean felt more and more defeated and he was coming to the painful realization that he might never get his mother or Castiel back. And to make matters worse, Jack could not care any less. He carried that same sinister expression on his face even as they dragged Kelly outside to give her a proper hunter’s burial. 

Jack escaped shortly after Kelly was put six feet under. 

They had spent over an hour frantically searching the surrounding area with no success. It was complete hell; having to live with the reality of what has happened. Then, on top of that, a powerful Nephilim was nowhere to be found. Dean knew that he had horrible luck, but he never truly understood just how horrible it was until that moment. Sam was just as hysterical even though he believed that Jack was _mostly_ harmless. Mostly. He still didn’t like the idea of a Jack running loose. Jack didn’t mention where he was planning on going. However, when Sam and Dean returned to the cabin, they did find a handwritten note taped to the front door. 

__

_“I’ll be in touch. –J.”_

Dean didn’t sleep very well that night. Neither did Sam.

The following two months went by in a blur and Dean refused to bury Castiel for three days after his death, much to Sam’s dismay. Dean only gave in when Sam offered to bury him traditionally and without the salt and fire. If Castiel was going to come back, he’d _need_ that body. 

Dean refused to give up.

He refused to give up even when they had completely exhausted their resources a month later. They had no leads on Jack and both Sam and Dean had read through every book available in the Men of Letter’s Bunker. Twice. Nothing could be done about bringing an angel back to life. Unless, of course, God decided to show up and do it himself. And Chuck has been radio-silent for over a year now, despite Dean’s recent, desperate attempts to reach out to him. Dean’s bruised knees were the only evidence of his time spent praying. And when Sam caught sight of them after a nasty hunt, he merely made a carnal joke about needing some sexual release from time to time. Because having Sam believe he was using his spare time to suck random guys off was much better than accepting defeat. By the look on Sam’s face, though, Dean knew that he wasn’t buying it.

Creating a rift in space and time was nearly impossible. Sam was able to dig up a few sketchy spells and research on the topic, but it was highly discouraged because of just how dangerous it was. Even if they were able to create a rift, the possibility of creating a doorway to the exact same alternate universe that Mary and Lucifer were in would be like finding a single needle in a haystack the size of the universe. 

To sum it up: Sam and Dean were thoroughly fucked.

To make matters worse, the tension between them was thick and unbearable. It wasn’t that Dean wasn’t grateful to have Sam around, but he was tortured with the constant thought that everything was his fault. That if he stuck around Sam for any longer, his brother would also suffer that same fate. He tried bringing it up once with Sam, but Sam quickly shot that thought down and told Dean to get a grip.

Dean did, for a while, until he couldn’t take it any longer. All he needed was a break. A place for him to be left alone with his own ridiculous thoughts and self-pity. 

So, Dean left and Sam begrudgingly agreed (after some deafening arguments) that it might be the best. At least for a little while. 

Which was why Dean was currently in Maine, working as a maintenance worker at a motel, and blasting Metallica as loud as he possibly could without permanently damaging his ears. 

Today was his day off, unfortunately. And no work meant that his mind could wander freely. Music helped, but most of the time Dean would eventually saunter over to the local bar down the street and get shit-faced. Alcohol seemed to be the only constant thing in his life and for that, Dean was grateful.

Occasionally, Dean would find a case in the newspaper and would spend his free day doing what he does best: killing things that go bump in the night. This week, however, was eerily quiet and Dean hated it with a passion. 

It’s been four months since everything has happened and Dean still has nightmares. Even something as simple as shutting his eyes for a few moments can leave him feeling anxious. He still had no idea where Jack was, even after this long, and the only thing that kept him sane was the knowledge that nothing horrible has happened. Not yet, at least. Aside from losing his mother and Castiel and even Crowley in the same night, the world was still spinning around as usual. Jack wasn’t going around and causing chaos, thankfully. Everything was calm. Too calm.

It was nearly midnight when Dean heard his phone buzzing on the nightstand, Sam’s ringtone blaring obnoxiously. As of lately, Dean was the only one who would reach out to Sam; on Saturday’s unless it was an absolute emergency. Except Saturday was two days away and Sam was the one calling him. 

Dean felt his heart skip a beat. 

For a few passing moments, Dean didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t want to be dragged back into the world he was trying to distance himself from. Not that he could ever give up hunting, of course. It was just the space that he was desperate for. A small taste of freedom. Just a small chance for him to _pretend_ that everything was normal. That he hadn’t just lost his mother or watched his best friend die. He never realized how much he needed a break until he got one. A few months away from Sam and the Supernatural didn’t help much, but it definitely helped him to slowly piece his own mind and sanity back together. 

After the fourth ring, Dean decided that his own sanity wasn’t that important. 

He answered the phone.

Dean didn’t get a chance to say a single word before Sam’s hysterical voice was heard through the receiver. His grip on the cellphone tightened instinctively and for a brief moment Dean wished that they weren’t so far away from each other. Dean’s mind was a whirring jumble of thoughts, but it was obvious that his need to protect his little brother was of the upmost importance. 

“—and he just showed up! Lied! Dean, he brought—“

“Sammy. _Sam_! Relax. Take a deep breath and start from the beginning. Are you all right?” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

He could hear his brother take a deep breath before speaking again, his voice more stable than before. “Yes, I’m fine. Dean, it’s Jack. He showed up at the bunker. Walked right in and nearly scared me to death; I was making breakfast.”

“He just walked in? Wait—Breakfast? Sam, it’s midnight.”

“I know that.”

“And you’re just now calling me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Dean groaned loudly and stood up, “Dammit, Sam. What the fuck,” he grumbled as he made his way over to his boots.

“Sorry,” Sam responded, not sounding at all apologetic, “But, Dean, that’s not all.”

Dean froze where he stood, a few feet away from his boots. Just the tone of Sam’s voice left Dean feeling nervous. Nothing but bad news would be coming next, Dean was positive of it. His stomach launched itself up into Dean’s throat and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

“What is it?” He asked, hoping Sam didn’t catch the way his voice shook.

“He lied about not being able to re-open the rift.”

Relief swept over Dean, “Oh, I thought something might’ve happened to you.”

“I told you I was fine, Dean. That’s all you have to say about that? You don’t care?”

“Of course I care! I knew that fucking asshole could re-open it. First thing out of his mouth was a lie. Unsurprising coming from the spawn of Satan,” Dean huffed and reached down to grab his shoes.

“That’s not the worst part.”

“Fuck, Sam, just spit it out! I’m about to drive back—“

“Don’t do that. We’re almost to you.”

Dean paused and let the silence drag out between them for a few passing seconds before responding with a quiet, “ _What_? What’s going on?”

“Look,” Sam inhaled slowly, “We’re about an hour away. Jack was able to help us bypass a lot of traffic. The cops didn’t even look our way and we were going almost double the speed limit. You’re staying at The Gull Motel, right? Room Eighteen?”

“Right. Sam—“

“Dean,” Sam interrupted, “Trust me. Nothing is wrong. Nothing serious, at least. It’s just… You’re going to have to see for yourself. We’ll be there in about an hour. Maybe less.”

Dean was reluctant, but knew that he had no choice but to wait for their arrival. “Fine.”

“Be there soon,” Sam said before promptly ending the call, obviously not wanting to hear any more of Dean’s complaints or answer any more of his questions. 

And Dean had a ton of questions.

Aside from finally putting on his boots and going over his conversation with Sam, Dean spent a majority of the hour trying to organize those questions by relevance. 

He was angry at first, mostly because Sam had just confirmed what Dean believed all along: that Jack was a compulsive liar and had no desire to actually help them. Dean was angry enough that he slammed his fist into the thin wall near his bed which, naturally, resulted in a hole the size of his hand. The hole was the least of his problems, though. In any case, it was actually his job to repair it, so even after seeing the damage, Dean was tempted to draw his fist back and do it once more. 

The satisfaction of destroying the motel wall only lasted a few minutes. Once he calmed down and got his bag packed, Dean was able sit and wait for the inevitable sight of Jack’s smug face. He had went four wonderful months without having to feast his eyes on it and frankly, Dean was dreading their reunion. Despite everything, though, Dean was overly excited to see his brother. A bit put off that his sheltered, uneventful vacation was coming to an end, but excited nonetheless. It would ease the small part of his brain that constantly believed Sam was in some sort of danger. 

Forty-five minutes later, Dean heard the sound of a car parking just outside of his motel room. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning and Dean was not even the smallest bit tired. His first instinct was the barge outside with guns blazing and give Lucifer’s spawn a piece of his unforgiving mind. Dean wouldn’t, of course, not after what Sam had said before. Sam had told him that nothing was wrong. Dean would just have to take his word.

Instead, he waited until he heard the familiar rhythmic knocking on his door. Two sharp raps followed by a short pause and one more knock, signaling that it was, in fact, Sam on the other side of the door. 

Dean drew his gun anyway as he approached the door, not wanting to take any risks. One quick look through the peephole told Dean that, yes, it was Sam. His brother was standing close to the door, close enough that Dean could only barely make out the other person standing beside him. However, the dirty blond hair confirmed what he already knew. Jack was there, too.

After deciding that he wasn’t in any imminent danger, Dean returned the gun back into its holster and unlocked the door before opening it widely. 

Not even a second later, Dean was pulled into a tight embrace. 

Sam’s arms were wrapped around Dean, hugging him as if his life depending on it. As if Dean had been away for a lot longer than two pitiful months. It was awkward at first, being caught off guard, but Dean quickly melted into the embrace and hugged his brother in return. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was awfully reassuring to know that Sam was alive and well. 

“Alright, alright…” Dean groused, forcefully pulling himself out of Sam’s grasp after a few seconds. He could see Jack’s arm just over Sam’s shoulder, but the kid wasn’t paying them any attention. Dean looked back up at Sam, instantly reminded of why his brother was here in the first place. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or what?”

He watched as Sam’s face fell and his brows furrowed in frustration, a look that Dean knew all too well. It was obvious that Sam didn’t want to worry Dean, but it was definitely something serious and Dean hated how long it was taking for Sam to spit it out. 

Dean sighed and took a few steps back into the motel room. Sam followed him slowly, briefly glancing back over his shoulder to look at Jack, who was still too preoccupied to give Dean the time of day. Actually, from Dean’s perspective, it looked like Jack was whispering to someone else. Someone who was just out of view.

Dean instantly went on alert. 

“Dean. It’s fine,” Sam told him before Dean could lash out. “Jack’s not a threat. Not right now, at least. He seems fine.” Dean scoffed, but Sam continued, “He thought we’d both be at the bunker. You weren’t, obviously, so we drove out here… And…”

His brother was hesitating and Dean raised his eyebrows to show his impatience.

Sam shifted on his feet, “Jack re-opened the rift. He spent the last few months going back and forth and he… well, he brought someone back with him this time.”

Dean’s eyes widened hysterically. Instantly, he thought about Bobby and his mom and _Lucifer_ , of all people. Sam didn’t appear to be in any distress, so Dean quickly scratched off the possibility of it being Lucifer just outside. Despite that reassuring thought, though, Dean only managed to relax marginally. Dread was still making itself home within his veins. He knew it was wrong to get his hopes up; but after all this time, he really couldn’t help himself. They needed a win.

“…Mom?” He asked hopefully, his voice quiet and pleading. Dean knew the second he said it, though, that he was definitely wrong. Sam’s face told him that much. “Then who? Apocalyptic Bobby?”

Sam shook his head slowly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Dean would’ve found it comical if he wasn’t freaking the fuck out over just _who_ Jack decided to pull through the rift.

“Dean—“

Sam’s voice was cut off by the sound of Jack’s boots entering the room, echoing off the walls. When Dean shifted over to get a better look, the smug asshole still had the nerve to seem thoroughly amused. At least this time, he was fully dressed. Actually, Jack looked as if he’d just stepped out of a magazine advertisement for a cool, trendy hipster brand that Dean couldn’t care less for. His hair was the same length, but noticeably styled beneath the orange beanie he wore. He matched it with a blue plaid shirt under a brown leather jacket and slim dark gray jeans that fit him perfectly. Jack looked a bit older than the last time Dean saw him, but not by much. 

Once again, Dean was struck with the overwhelming urge to punch him.

“Jack,” Dean said, his voice flat and laced with venom. 

“Nice to see you again, Dean,” he responded, unfazed by the anger Dean’s tone, “I assume Sam has caught you up to speed?”

“Mostly. Except—”

“—Perfect,” Jack smirked at him and Dean had to clench his hands into fists to keep his temper in check. Sam noticed the tension radiating off of Dean and he placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder to keep him grounded. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Dean felt his heart skip a beat. A wide array of emotions blanketed him; anything from anger to happiness to complete confusion. He knew Jack didn’t bring back his mother, Sam confirmed that much, so the only option that Dean found most likely was that Jack brought Castiel back from the dead. Except, that didn’t make any sense either and that would’ve been the first thing out of Sam’s mouth. Something wasn’t right, and Dean held his breath, unsure of what to say or how to respond. 

Before Dean could conjure up a complete sentence or snarky remark about how he doesn’t _like_ surprises, Jack held out his hand and gestured for someone to enter the room. 

The moment the stranger stepped out of the shadows and into Dean’s motel room, Dean was absolutely positive his heart stopped. Castiel stood just through the entranceway, his figure silhouetted in the moonlight outside. And without thinking, Dean took a step forward; the instinct to shelter Castiel and pull him into a hug and _lecture_ him about his lack of common sense all too strong to ignore. 

Except, when Dean took that small step closer, Castiel took a quick step back—his eyes staring at Dean with an undeniable intensity that Dean hadn’t seen since the first time he met the powerful angel. 

It was then that Dean finally noticed the differences.

Castiel was no longer wearing his usual tan trench coat and black suit. Instead, he was dressed in a gray/black two-piece suit vest over a white long-sleeved button up and striped gray tie. He was wearing black pants, similar to the ones Dean was familiar with, and holding a black trench coat that was embellished with unnecessary buckles. 

To make matters worse, Dean could see black, tattooed feathers peeking out just above the collar of Castiel’s shirt and up the side of Cas’ neck.

That was _definitely_ not the Castiel that Dean knew.

It was Jack’s voice that finally pulled Dean out of his sickening trance, “Dean, meet Castiel. Castiel, this is Dean Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Will start updating this on a weekly basis! Be sure to leave comments and/or critiques. :) ___


	3. Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, here's a few pictures that I used as inspiration for Castiel's attire: [[Here](http://68.media.tumblr.com/d5fdbfa42e455363969419a471a0a8f8/tumblr_ou86vfI3ds1uhxprao1_1280.png)]

Dean knew anger; Hell, he had been angry for a majority of his life. He was angry at the fire that burned a hole in his perfect all-American family. Angry at his mother for selling her soul over to Azazel in the first place and creating this horrible nightmare. Angry that, despite overcoming Sam’s psychic powers and killing the demon who happily took Mary’s soul (among other things), they still managed to stroll right into some unbelievable chaos time and time again. One step forward and ten steps back.

Most of all, though, Dean was angry at himself.

He should’ve seen it coming, really. The possibility of there being another Castiel in that God awful alternate universe crossed Dean’s mind a few times. But he squashed those thoughts even before he allowed himself to believe it might be true.

Because even though the man standing before him _looked_ like Castiel. Or, rather, Jimmy Novak, Dean knew that this wasn’t _his_ Castiel. Not the Castiel that he had grown accustomed to. No, not at all. _This_ Castiel held himself in a way that told Dean he knew nothing but war and injustice. His cold, electric blue eyes were stern and lacked the humanity and adoration that Dean, and Sam, had worked so hard for. It hurt Dean more than he’d care to admit. 

Last time Dean had visited an apocalyptic alternate Earth, he met another version of Castiel. One that reeked of weed and insisted on sexual gratification in an effort to tame the tension of the ongoing war against Lucifer. However, despite those subtle changes, Castiel had felt familiar. He was someone he could recognize and trust his life with.

In a world that lacked Sam and Dean Winchester, Dean was stunned to see just how much they had been able to impact Castiel’s personality over the course of a few years. From demanding and stoic to affectionate and understanding. 

This Castiel showed no sign of either. Yet, he was just as stoic as he was the day Dean met him all those years ago. 

“Dean…?” Sam’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and Dean had to force himself to look away from the Castiel-look-alike.

His brother looked worried, but not afraid and Dean instantly thought about their long drive to Maine and how much time they had to talk about… everything. If Sam didn’t see this Castiel as a threat, then Dean would give him the benefit of the doubt. Still, Dean was wary and it took all of his willpower to hold his hand out to Castiel. 

Castiel’s grip was stronger than Dean had expected. 

“Fantastic!” Jack chimed in, just as Dean’s hand left Castiel’s grasp. Dean rolled his eyes in irritation, Jack was nothing but a compulsive liar, it seemed, and the sound of his voice made Dean’s skin crawl with disgust.

“So, here’s the deal,” the Nephilim began again, clearly unfazed by Dean’s sour expression. Sam looked as though he was about to interrupt Jack but Jack merely held up a hand to silence him before he had the chance to, “We’re kind of on a tight schedule here. I figured I’d do you a favor, Dean. You asked me to bring Castiel back, and, even though this isn’t _exactly_ the same thing, I thought: What the Hell?” Jack’s grin was positively sinister and Dean took an angry step forward. 

Castiel still hadn’t said a single word since entering the room and for a split second, Dean wondered if this version of Castiel could even speak. But then he remembered the hushed conversation outside and Dean’s expression hardened. 

Castiel wasn’t the problem right now, thought, Jack was.

“And did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn’t want you to do that?” Dean asked, watching as Jack’s expression shifted into something much less charming.

“I was trying to help, you know. I liked Castiel.”

“Awesome. Just… Awesome. Obviously, they’re,” Dean waved his hand in the direction of Castiel to emphasize his next point, “ _identical_.” His sarcasm was not lost on them and out of the corner of his eye, Dean thought he saw the edge of Castiel’s lip twist up into an entertained smirk. Dean was quick to assume that it was only the light in the  
hotel room playing tricks on him. 

The silence that followed was uncomfortable.

“Okay. Um,” Sam cleared his throat to clear some of the tension lingering in the air and offered Dean an awkward smile, “I know this isn’t ideal. In fact, I didn’t like it at first either. But it might be helpful. For a while, at least. Jack has a plan—“

Before Sam could finish that thought, Dean huffed in disbelief, “A _plan_? Are you fucking kidding me? _Lucifer’s child_ lied about not being able to re-open the rift and then went and brought back a knock-off Cas,” He looked to Castiel now, whose lips were set in a thin line. If it weren’t for his single raised eyebrow, Dean would’ve started to think the guy wasn’t an angel after all: but a robot. Because that made more sense than his fucked up life. “We can’t trust him. For all we know he’s getting his orders from Lucifer.”

“I’m not,” Jack helpfully supplied. Dean ignored him.

“If he wanted to help, he should’ve brought back mom. At least she’s still alive.”

Sam’s expression fell a little at the mention of Mary, “Dean… That’s what I’m trying to tell you. God, will you just listen to us?”

Dean scoffed but kept his mouth shut. He could hear Jack chuckling quietly, obviously enjoying the entertainment. Castiel remained just as apathetic as ever. 

It was Jack who spoke next, “I tried looking for your mom but I couldn’t get close enough. I’m trying to stay _away_ from my father, thank you very much.”

Dean didn’t want to believe him. Actually, he _really_ didn’t want to believe him. Because if that was true than that meant his mom was still in close proximity to Lucifer and that tiny tidbit of knowledge just didn’t settle well with Dean. 

“Oh, relax. She’s safe. As safe as she can be, anyway. She’s a lot tougher than she looks. She should be more worried about the other angels. They’re vicious.”

At that, Dean spun his head to look at Castiel who, to Dean’s surprise, was definitely smirking now. 

_Wonderful. Just, wonderful._

Bobby had said something about the angels and although Dean didn’t get the chance to see them in person, it didn’t take a genius to know that Bobby wasn’t kidding around. 

Although, Castiel seemed relatively normal. He didn’t look vicious, his clothes were clean, and, no, he wasn’t wearing a necklace made of baby ears or showing any other odd signs that might point to cruel and capricious. If the angels were so vicious, why was Castiel so tame and well-dressed?

“I was not a part of that movement,” came a familiar gravelly voice, promptly interrupting Dean’s thoughts and pulling his gaze up and away from Castiel’s torso. Castiel was still wearing the smirk but it had dimmed sufficiently, which honestly didn’t make Dean feel any better. He refused to voice that, though, and he simply nodded his head at Castiel before turning his attention back to Jack, who was smiling now. 

“As I was saying,” Jack continued, “I couldn’t reach your mom without getting his attention so I went to find Castiel. Once I did, I brought him back here.” 

Dean’s patience was running thin. 

Sam seemed to catch on to Dean’s frustration and decided to pick up where Jack left off; thankfully summing it up for Dean quickly. “And he has a plan to go back and get mom but he needs help. Someone needs to distract Lucifer and the other angels... and the other demons… It’s kind of a mess over there.”

Right. Because _that_ didn’t seem fishy at all. Jack had no reason to go back and save Mary. Dean could understand Castiel to some degree. But Mary? Yeah, that didn’t make any sense. Unless, of course, the asshole was trying to do something nice for the Winchester’s. That seemed unlikely, though, and Dean couldn’t help but think Jack had an ulterior motive. He _was_ Lucifer’s son, after all. 

“Okay…” Dean said slowly, “So when do we leave?”

Sam shifted on his feet, a sign that Dean recognized from their childhood. It was a habit that Sam was unable to break and only made an appearance when he knew something that Dean didn’t; when it was something Dean definitely wasn’t going to like. Sam didn’t even bother with the puppy dog eyes, which only furthered Dean’s suspicions. 

“Here’s the thing… Jack says we shouldn’t all go. It’ll only attract more angels. Like a beacon.”

“Great. Then I’ll go,” Dean responded without any additional information. He knew what Sam was implying and he definitely wasn’t on board with whatever it was that Sam was about to say, “Problem solved.”

Jack and Castiel were standing off to the side, watching the conversation with observant, knowing eyes. Both of them appeared slightly entertained, but otherwise determined to interfere if they felt the need to. Obviously, they had already talked Sam’s ear off about whatever the plan was and just the thought of Sam having to sit in a car with both of them left Dean feeling edgy. 

“Dean, that’s not…” Sam sighed in frustration and chewed on his lower lip as he thought of how to phrase his next sentence. “Jack and I… we’re going to go find mom. He thought this through and—“

“No.”

“Dammit, don’t do that. I’m an adult, you know!”

“I said no, Sammy, end of discussion!” Dean was fuming. Like Sam actually believed Dean would allow him to venture off to some unknown apocalyptic wasteland with Satan’s spawn. Hilarious. If Dean wasn’t so furious, he’d almost think Sam was pulling his leg. 

Dean found out rather quickly that, no, it definitely wasn’t a joke. 

Shortly after his outburst, Dean was tossed back against the wall and held there forcefully. The impact didn’t hurt. In fact, instead of the firm wall he was expecting, it felt like he was lying on a cushion of feathered pillows. His limbs were useless as he couldn’t move them at all. To make matters worse, though, Dean was rendered completely speechless. He couldn’t express his outrage vocally at all. Whenever he opened his mouth to talk he’d only be met with a sickening silence. 

All he could do was stare in disbelief and anger at the son-of-a-bitch who was snickering freely at Dean’s new dilemma. The second Dean could move, he _swore_ he was going to kick Jack’s ass. He’d kill him if he had to. Actually, yeah, he was definitely going to kill him. Frankly, the kid has been alive for far too long, anyway.

Thankfully, Sam appeared to be just as outraged as Dean was. But before Sam could have some choice words with Lucifer’s son, Jack threw his hands up in a portrayal of innocence. 

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Jack said with a smile, every bit the evil devil-child Dean knew he was straight from the very beginning, “I’m not the one who did it.”

All heads turned to look at Castiel. 

The angel shrugged in response.

“Dean refused to listen,” Castiel said, as though that explained everything. After seeing that Sam and Dean’s expressions were still unpleasant, Castiel continued with an exasperated sigh, “I felt the need to restrain him. I’m sure we can all agree that we shouldn’t waste any more time. The drive alone was extensive and unnecessary.” 

Sam appeared skeptical, but eventually nodded his head in agreement; much to Dean’s dismay. He wondered, idly, how Sam’s willingness to trust _this_ Castiel came so easily. They knew nothing about him. Aside from his name and the fact he was an angel, the differences were excruciatingly obvious. Castiel still spoke with a husky, authoritative tone, but it was laced with a hint of leisurely dullness that made him appear indifferent and sloppy. It reminded Dean more of the other Apocalyptic Castiel, albeit minus the drug addiction and carefree nature. It was disconcerting and made Dean angry. Especially since Castiel felt like he could throw Dean around and control him without batting an eye.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Dean,” Jack commanded, his eyes narrowing in on the elder Winchester, “Sam’s coming with me. Your mom isn’t _with_ my dad, but he’s still hunting her, from what I’ve seen. I tried reaching out to her before, but if I get too close, Lucifer can sense it. It’s too risky. Sam was right, it’d be like a beacon if we all went across. And no offense, Dean, but Sam would be more helpful. Someone needs to stay here and make sure nothing happens. I thought Castiel could keep you company.” 

Dean was breathing roughly now and he clenched his hands into tight fists. Still, he couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t argue. He couldn’t plead. He couldn’t whisper or, Hell, Dean couldn’t even _growl_. Dean’s mind was racing a mile a minute and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

“Relax,” Jack huffed out a laugh and shook his head, “Sam’s safer with me. And we’d be able to pop out of that world quickly if we need to. It does take a lot of energy out of me, though, so I’m not saying it’s easy. Sam would be able to help me out with the demons there. They’re almost as vicious as the angels but not nearly as intelligent. With Sam’s powers we’d be able to—“

Dean’s eyes went wide and he turned to look at Sam in utter disbelief. He wasn’t concentrating on what Jack was saying anymore, and Sam’s own expression was one of concern. Sam knew what Dean was thinking. Not only was Sam going with Jack to Earth 2.0, but he was willingly going to use his old powers? The same powers that Dean thought they got rid of all those years ago? The ones that required _demon blood_ , of all things?

“Dean…” Sam’s pleading voice interrupted Jack’s babbling, “I promise it’s not what you’re thinking. Believe me, I didn’t want to do it at first. But—Dean, Jack says I won’t even need the blood! He could just, you know, recharge me, or whatever. It’d help with the demons. Lucifer already has a bunch on his side and some are after mom. And Jack’s right, you know, we can’t just leave _this_ Earth completely. You can handle it. Plus, you’d have… _him_.” Sam nods his head over at Castiel, who was absently picking at a loose thread on his suit vest. Dean thought he was angry before, but that was nothing compared to the wrath he felt right now.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Dean felt his throat grow disturbingly hot. His tongue no longer felt heavy and useless in his mouth and immediately, Dean wanted to reach up and grasp at it. His arm remained pinned to the wall, though; yet when he growled in irritation, he was stunned to find he actually made a noise. 

“Fuck,” He grumbled, “Don’t you _ever_ do that again! You hear me?” Dean was pointedly staring at Castiel, who finally glanced up to give Dean a jaded expression. One that told Dean he heard him, but could very well do whatever he pleases. If Dean wasn’t immobilized, he’d be throwing punches. At who? He wasn’t quite sure. 

Dean needed to pick his battles, however, and quickly turned his attention to Sam before Castiel could utter an actual verbal response. “And you,” He fumed, “You really think that’s a good idea? Jack’s dangerous, Sam. That entire place is dangerous!”

“You think I don’t know that? I want mom back as much as you do!” Sam responded.

“And we can get her back together.”

“It’s too risky. And, honestly, Dean, it makes sense. I’ve been doing some research and Jack seemed to be telling the truth. If we both go, we might all end up dead.”

Dean shook his head a little, glad that Castiel had given him that much mobility. The entire plan seemed like a load of shit. He really didn’t want to let Sam go. Not alone. Not with _Lucifer’s son_ of all people. It felt a lot like Dean was deciding whether or not to sign off of Sam’s death certificate. Regardless of what Jack was telling him, Dean couldn’t bring himself to trust him. On the other hand, Dean had complete faith in Sam. After all these years on the road with him, he knew he could count on Sam to take care of himself if shit hit the fan.

Sam had trusted Dean enough to give him his space, despite the fact that they had no idea where Jack was at the time or how Hell was going to react to Crowley’s death. Sam was right. They were both adults. Dean was pushing forty years old and he _still_ hated the idea of Sam leaving. Dean had been so selfish in the past; he had realized that much in the past two months. Death was inevitable. Nothing really mattered, not truly. But _Sam_ mattered and Dean wanted to prove to his brother that he trusted him, just as much as Sam trusted him.

The reality hit him like a blow to the chest.

Dean was tired. He was so tired of arguing and fighting against his own brother. Sam deserved more than that, after all that the kid has been through. I’d be ridiculous to keep fighting and it’d only add additional stress to the situation at hand. Of course, if Dean _did_ let Sam go, he’d be stressing about the fact Sam was in some fucked up, alternate Earth, but at least Sam would be glad Dean had faith in him… Right?

“Fuck…” He breathed out, trying desperately to bring his heartrate down to a reasonable speed, “Fine. Okay,” Dean muttered, much to his own astonishment. His voice was soft and nearly inaudible, but it was evident by the relieved expression on Sam’s face that his brother heard him loud and clear. 

Not even a second later, Dean felt his restraints give way. His aching legs felt like Jell-O on the hardwood floor and Dean’s arms fell heavily to his side. Dean was quickly overcome with undeniable exhaustion; both mentally and physically. One look at the clock on the night stand told him that it was almost two o’clock in the morning. 

Before Dean knew it, he was pulled into an embrace. Sam’s lanky arms had wrapped tightly around Dean’s body and Dean was quick to surrender as his own arms lifted to return Sam’s hug. Dean could no longer blame the growing lump in his throat on Castiel’s attempt to silence him. Nor the way his breath stuttered each time he tried breathe in deeply. For four months Dean had insisted on holding back his emotions, refused to admit that the events that took place tore him to pieces. Just the thought of losing Sam threatened the barrier he built to keep it all from flooding over and drowning him. 

“I won’t let you down, Dean, I promise. I’ll bring back mom and then everything will be fine,” Sam’s voice was muffled against Dean’s hair and all Dean could think about was that, no, it won’t be fine. Nothing could ever return to normal. 

But Dean didn’t mention that. He didn’t even utter a word. 

Instead, Dean pulled out of Sam’s grip and looked up at his little brother before giving him a small nod. Regardless of what has happened in the past, he trusted Sam’s ability to bring back their mother in one piece. As a family, they had grown monumentally. Their confidence in one another was what kept each other alive. It was painful to let Sam leave without the ability to protect him should anything go awry, but this was _Sam_. The same Sam that took control over Lucifer and threw them both into the pit to save the world. The same, little brother that had enough courage to stand up to their father and follow his own dreams of going to college. 

Dean had nothing to worry about.

Unfortunately, Sam and Jack left shortly thereafter. Despite the same, egotistical expression that lingered on Jack’s face more often than not, Jack had profusely reassured Dean that Sam was in good hands and he was only trying to help. They didn’t expect it to take longer than a week, but Jack made no promises. At least Dean could admire the kid’s honesty, if nothing at all. And as they said their goodbyes, Dean was idly aware of the angelic presence standing to the side, as watchful and quiet as ever.

The reality of being left with a post-apocalyptic doppelgänger of his best friend didn’t hit Dean until the motel door closed behind Sam and Jack, promptly leaving them alone. Castiel had been relatively quiet during the whole ordeal, aside from pinning Dean to the wall and forcing him to keep his mouth shut. 

Right now, Castiel was still standing in the same spot with his black trench coat folded over his left forearm and his curious eyes trained solely on the hunter before him.

The room was immediately blanketed in a sheen of awkwardness. Dean hadn’t allowed himself to believe that this was Castiel, because it wasn’t, but it was awfully difficult considering that they were nearly identical. However, now that Dean was given the chance to look at the guy, _really_ look at him, the more differences he was able to spot. This Castiel had longer, shaggier hair and a dark stubble peppered along his jawline. Dean wondered if Castiel actually made an effort to look this put together, but after one more glance at the angel’s current attire, Dean had answered his own question. 

“Well, then…” Castiel cleared his throat and stepped toward the small, circular dining table in Dean’s motel room. He set his trench coat over the back end of one chair before observing the unit as a whole. 

Dean felt resignation seep through his bones, “Why are you here?”

“Curiosity, mostly.” 

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Last I saw, your world was a fucking disaster. What, were you eager to leave?”

Castiel merely hummed in response, unwilling to give in to Dean’s attempt at an argument. Somehow, that only succeeded at making Dean angrier. 

“That’s fucking selfish, you know that right?” Dean sneered, watching as Castiel roamed around the room, no longer paying the hunter any attention, “You hear me? You can’t just leave people behind. Look at you, you don’t even give a shit!”

The look Castiel gave Dean was positively frightening. His eyes were no longer filled with amusement or curiosity; instead, Castiel’s gaze was heated and powerful. The air between them was tense and Dean immediately regretting what he said. He was just furious, after all. Furious that he was forced into this ridiculous position. Dean knew that he had no right to take his anger out on Castiel, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself.

Castiel shifted his position and turned his entire body toward the hunter who was settled across the room; his gaze fixed on Dean’s own, regretful eyes. It was at that moment that Dean noticed the soft glimmer of blue light tracing the black, feathered tattoos on Castiel’s neck, mimicking that of an electric current. Dean could do nothing but stare in awe; every ounce of fury inside him disappeared and was replaced by pure fascination. What the fuck?

“You’re exhausted,” Castiel grumbled and ran his fingers through his hair. Not even a second later, the gentle glow had dissipated into nothing, leaving only the black feathers in its wake. Just as they had been before. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”

It was true, Dean was exhausted. And for a brief second, he believed that he had imagined the entire thing. “And, what? Let you take off on your own?” Dean’s voice was no longer laced with venom and by the way Castiel’s expression had softened, Castiel noticed that as well.

“I made a promise to your brother, Dean. I tend to keep my promises. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“And then?”

Castiel shrugged and lifted his fingers to slowly work the buttons loose on his suit vest. Dean’s eyes trailed down to Castiel’s hands, watching as his long, slender fingers continued to work off the suit vest, leaving only the white dress shirt and striped tie behind. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, forcing his gaze back up in hopes that he wouldn’t get caught staring. The Castiel _he_ knew remained fully clothed. Hell, Castiel barely ever took of his tan trench coat. 

“Undressing.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion, this guy was completely different from the Castiel that Dean had grown familiar with over the years, “Dude. You don’t sleep. Right?”

“That’s correct, yes,” Castiel said slowly, his own eyes squinting in a portrayal of confusion. The action stunned Dean for a moment, instantly reminding him of when Castiel had no idea what was going on and would pull some shitty, absurd face that challenged Sam’s own puppy-dog one. Seeing it made Dean’s chest constrict with grief and he had to forcibly look away.

Dean was drained. He didn’t have the strength to figure out how this Castiel worked and frankly, Dean just wanted to get at least a few hours of sleep before he’d be woken up by his alarm clock. Dean had to be at work in less than five hours. 

“Forget it,” Dean sighed and slipped out of his own boots. Unlike Castiel, Dean was planning on keeping his clothes on in hopes he’d save himself some time in the morning. Without another word, he sauntered over to the single bed and sat down on the edge.

Castiel considered him for a moment as he placed his suit vest over his black trench coat on the chair. He continued to undress; working the tie around his neck loose and absently unbuttoning the dress shirt, as though he’d done this a million times before. Dean figured that he actually might’ve.

“I don’t have to sleep,” Castiel mumbled, “But clothes are somewhat constricting. I like to relax during the night, if I get the chance. I hope it won’t be an issue.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen. Just—keep your underwear on, though. Thanks,” Dean replied blearily.

With each unfastened button, Dean can make out more of Castiel’s bare chest. The feathers on Castiel’s neck dipped down just beneath his left nipple. And from the looks of it, it was a combination of large and small feathers. Some of which, had appeared scorched and were wilting away from the others. The details were intricate, even from the distance, Dean could tell that a lot of work went into that piece of artwork. 

When Castiel finally finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged himself out of it, Dean noted that it wasn’t the only tattoo Castiel had.

Large, dark wings protruded from the center of Castiel’s upper back, arching up and over his shoulders and down the expanse of his upper arms. Just like the feathers, the wings were unbelievably detailed and Dean was thoroughly impressed. The only other tattoos that Dean could see from his vantage point was a single bee on the inside of Castiel’s right wrist and written transcript just above the angel’s right hipbone. Enochian, it looked like.

Dean was openly staring now, unable to stop himself from gazing over every inch of tattooed skin. 

“How long did it take to get those done?” He found himself asking, his gaze lingering on the transcript, trying to figure out if he could recognize any of the letters or words. Sam would’ve been able to crack the code in a heartbeat.

“Not long,” came the response. 

“Not long? Dude, it looks like it could’ve taken months, or even years.”

Castiel shrugged and pulled off his tie, setting it with the rest of his discarded clothes, “If I had it done traditionally, I’m sure it would’ve taken years to complete,” he agreed.

Dean thought about that for a moment before asking his next question, “How’d you get them done, then?”

Castiel glanced over at Dean, his eyes harboring nothing but untainted curiosity. “I did them myself,” He said as he padded over to the unimpressive, blue couch resting against the wall opposite the bed, “It would only take a few minutes. Although, the wings were quite difficult. Mirrors were helpful, but a lot of it was trial and error—“

“—Wait a minute,” Dean interrupted, sitting up a bit straighter, a look of clear disbelief forming on his face, “Let me get this straight… You tattooed yourself? Even the wings? How the hell is that even possible?”

The angel, now lounging comfortably on the couch, raised a single eyebrow at Dean, “I’m an angel. I’m sure you’re familiar with our ability to heal. Likewise, we sustain the ability to… harm or alter a person’s appearance. It’s simple, really. All it takes is concentration and an eye for artistry.” Castiel smirked then, absently running his left thumb against the bee on his opposite wrist.

“I thought I saw the feathers glowing,” Dean responded dumbly, unable to contain the questions now that they were pouring out at an embarrassing rate.

“Ah, yes. I used my grace to make the markings. The tattoos themselves are black, but... Think of it as translucent. If I were to use an angel blade to cut my palm, you’d see my grace shining through, yes? It doesn’t happen all the time, but my grace glows around the edges of the tattoos. Most of the time it doesn’t show, but—“

“—But you looked angry when I saw it.”

“Exactly.”

“Huh,” Dean breathed out, captivated by everything Castiel was saying. He hadn’t intended to get this carried away with his questions. But he also hadn’t planned on Castiel having so many tattoos. They were distracting. Initially, Dean had anticipated ignoring Castiel for most of the week. It was Castiel’s fault, really. “That’s… kinda fucking awesome. Can you make it glow whenever you want or is it just when you’re mad?”

Castiel tilted his head slightly, his expression calculating, “On occasion. Dean, no offense, but you really should get some sleep. You’ve had a stressful night. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere if that’s what you’re worried about.”

One more look at Castiel told Dean that the angel had opted to keep his pants on. Dean wasn’t sure if he was upset or overjoyed with this realization. On one hand, seeing Castiel in nothing but underwear would surely be traumatizing. But on the other hand, Dean was dying to see if Castiel had any other tattoos scattered across his skin. 

With a sigh, Dean nodded his head. Maybe this was all a nightmare. A sick, twisted nightmare. He wouldn’t be all that surprised, really. Dean’s nightmares have been getting more vivid with each passing day. Losing his brother and being left with a tattooed angel instead could very well fit in the nightmare category. All Dean needed to do was go to sleep and wake up in the morning refreshed. 

Fuck, he really was drained. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” He yawned, “I’ve got work in a few hours, anyway.”

“Good night, Dean.”

“Night,” He mumbled before lying down on the bed. Dean didn’t even bother with the blankets; he would’ve overheated anyhow given the jeans and the plaid he was still sporting. He _did_ , however, roll over and shut off the single lamp on the nightstand that was keeping the room lit. 

It didn’t take long for Dean’s exhaustion to seep deep into his bones, dragging him further away from consciousness and hopefully, out of this never ending nightmare. Regardless, Dean silently sent out a quick prayer to whoever the fuck was listening; only wishing for Sam’s safety and quick return. 

Dean was also painstakingly aware of Castiel’s presence in the room—of the eyes watching him through the darkness and the soft blue glow of outlined feathers serving as a nightlight to the hunter as he drifted into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, be sure to leave kudos or comments! They give me more motivation than I'd like to admit. Also, here a picture of two tattoos that I used as inspiration for Castiel's tattoos. I couldn't find any tattoos that looked similar to the feathers and enochian that I invisioned, but here's an image of the wings and bee: [[Here](http://68.media.tumblr.com/a802feadf36d6054431f0baabd021620/tumblr_ou86vfI3ds1uhxprao2_1280.png)]


End file.
